Evil's Lovely
by FullOfHunger
Summary: *Closed, sorry* Tired of watching the tributes, he turned to watch the Capitol citizens in their excitement, the Gamemakers in their natural habitat. The evil behind the show, that was what was lovely.
1. Introduction

**Hello! Welcome to a new and (hopefully) unique Hunger Games SYOT. I tried one before (a dismal failure towards the end and not very good writing, but you are welcome to read) and now I want to try again.**

**Since I really don't want to write _another_ reaping (when someone writes all 24? Ugh. I don't want to read that 24 times) I have a basic idea. The thirtieth Games, focusing on the Gamemaker's and Capitol's view. Because the tributes? They can be just so _depressing_.**

**Anyways, I'm going to need a few Gamemaker's, a few tributes, and a few shallow pools otherwise known as Capitol citizens. It'd be nice to have a few with unique backgrounds, but I need 'regular' people too. The forms are down below, and I've worked one of them into the prologue that makes this a 'legal' chapter.**

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><p>"Miss?" The world waved in front of me. "Miss, your son."<p>

I could feel someone moving my arms. Something warm wiggled, lying on me. I clutched it.

"This is Paige," the nurse insisted. "Ms. Palmer, this is your son, Paige."

I blinked. My son? I didn't have a son.

The bundle in my arms gurgled. Of course I had a son! I just hadn't seen him before was all, I'd been carrying him around for the last year... How long had it been?

"...you'll need to get up now, Ms. Palmer. I know what you really need is rest, and I'm sorry, but you'll have to move. We don't have enough floor space, and we have more patients coming in already..."

Paige was beautiful. I couldn't get over his hair, his beautiful, brown eyes. Nothing like my pale, blue ones.

Shouting started behind me. "Don't drop him! Careful of his arm!"

"Ms. Palmer," the nurse said. She was still here? "This boy's just fallen from a tree in the orchards and we - we need this floor space, oh please oh please get up!"

I tore my eyes off Paige. Selfish woman. Silly children fell from the trees in the orchards all the time. I knew my precious Paige would never do that.

I got up. The world swayed - where was it going? There?

"Ms. Palmer, your child needs to fill out the form, you'll do it for him, go to the justice building but please we just need you to go and - oh," the nurse finished softly.

The boy wasn't really a boy anymore. It looked as if he hadn't fallen from a tree, but a cloud, and then had been drowned, washed like a rag and then dragged here by his feet.

I dizzily scurried away. I didn't want to think about it, and I had Paige and his forms to fill out.

I went home. The justice building could wait for me to finish the forms before it got it's visit.

The small concrete abode would judt be big enough for both of us to live comfortably. "Here's the wash area," I cooed, "and there's the trash bucket. Here's were we'll sleep..."

Paige's eyes fell closed. I sat and nestled him in my lap, clearing space on the floor for the form and myself.

PANEM: NEW CITIZEN FORM: FOR BABIES AND SMALL CHILDREN, TO BE COMPLETED WITHIN ONE DAY OF BIRTH

NAME

AGE

DISTRICT

APPEARANCE (be specific)

PERSONALITY

FAMILY AND FRIENDS (name, age, describe)

STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES

BACKSTORY

OTHER

I stared at the form. Who came up with this? They didn't want to know his height or weight, or dot the paper with a bloody fingerprint? They didn't even want my signiature; they just wanted to know what Paige's strengths and weaknesses were and _if he had any friends yet_.

Our government was so twisted.

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><p><strong>So that's the basic form. I need gamemakers, regular Capitol citizens and district tributes too, though, so if you don't think that form does your character justice, submit your own form. Just make sure you include everything (as long as it applies).<strong>

**I haven't decided if Paige is actually going to be in the story yet or not, but I think so. Of course, he won't be in it as a baby. If you haven't gathered, he was in Eleven.**

**Now, scurry off and make me some characters! (please) :)**


	2. Prior to the Games

**Welcome to the first real chapter! Before it starts, though...**

**Thanks to: KinkiKid, tiiger-lily, ShawdowDragon654, fobrules135, and Moonlight Resonance for submitting characters! I'm sorry if I missed anybody who did. If I missed you, PM me:)**

**And I apologize to everybody who I told that I would update a couple of days ago... Obviously I didn't but it's here now!**

**I think you'll like (LOVE) this cast of characters, so here we go!**

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><p><em>3 weeks prior to the Games - Gamemaker Headquarters<em>

The Gamemaking room was a mess.

"Hamilton! Pick up you papers!" Adolf Hamilton mocked under his breath. "Waste of space..."

He was at his desk, in the back row of Gamemakers as the group attempted to clean up all the last minute design flaws of the arena. It could have been easier, but Head Gamemaker Sinclair had left everything to the last minute - as usual - and there were still major issues with the gravity and cameras.

Sinclair really wasn't good at his job. Adolf remembered two years ago, before the last head had retired. Those were some extraordinary Games. The most interesting death had probably been the boy falling from the air blimp, or the girl who got munched by that shark. These days, with Sinclair in charge, most of the tributes just starved to death. BO-ring!

And Sinclair flaunted it, too. He didn't have to be such a jerk. It wasn't like Adolf would act any different, but it still sucked to be in the receiving end.

Adolf concentrated on his screen. He didn't have any orders to fix much at the moment, but he still had too look bus-

"Hamilton! Humidity's wonky!"

Adolf could just murder Sinclair sometimes. "Yeah, I'm on it..."

He moved the display around with his hands, tapping occasionally to see the stats of each vicinity. Focusing on the humidity, he saw it was mostly stable. Higher by the lake, but not by much... The whole arena had quite high humidity, as it should have.

Adolf tapped for another area's stats. He waited for them to configure themselves properly, but the clearly incorrect figures didn't change. They were all the opposite of what they should be; even the time of day, which was based on the amount of light, said it's the middle of the night. Which it wasn't.

Adolf laughed, realizing. The sensor panel was just upside down.

"What's so funny, Hamilton?"

Sinclair. Adolf grimaced. "Panel L1505 was installed upside down, Head."

"Of course it was," said Sinclair. He leaned over Adolf's shoulder to manipulate the screen. "Seems your right," Sinclair admitted. "Better get a worker out to the arena."

"It's Sunday," Adolf mentioned.

"Do it tomorrow, then."

"I'll just send an avox. We can have it done now."

"We barely have enough to serve us coffee, Hamilton, you aren't going to send them away to the arena. You can get it fixed tomorrow. And in the meantime, the humidity is still a problem."

Adolf sighed. _Everything_ was still a problem with Sinclair.

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><p><em>Two weeks prior to the Games - District One, Career Tribute Training Center<em>

"Keep your arm up!" yelled the trainer. He wasn't talking to Shimmer, but she knew better than to not pay attention. "Accuracy over speed! Don't waste your knives; hit something with them!"

Shimmer was practicing hand to hand combat. It was her weak point, what with her being so small. Wrestling like this didn't come up much in the Games - unarmed tributes usually died before the Careers - but it was still worth practicing. Really, it was her only weak point. She wouldn't improve much in the week before she'd volunteer at the Realings, but she could still try.

Shimmer remembered the big assembly, months ago, when she'd been chosen as the best female trainee in the district. She'd been expecting to be picked, but it had surprised her despite so. A huge honor, and she'd been living the life since then.

Shimmer gave up on the wrestling. The trainer wasn't really trying, and she pinned him down before getting up and walking away. Needed something to do... She chose spears; she was good with those.

Snatching one up, she toyed with it for a moment.

Suddenly she plunked her spear in a dummy and spun around. This was dreadfully boring. "I need a sparring partner," she declared strongly. A trainer stood up from the side. One of the older ones, loosing his skill. "How about a few of you, actually," Shimmer decided instead. It was much more exhilarating to be able to twirl and twist and fend everyone of them off at once.

A couple of them looked like they wanted to kill her. They probably did - in the long years of her teenage life she'd spent training, she'd done some pretty nasty things to some of them.

"The more the merrier!" Shimmer shrieked.

They came at her in a wide formation, almost all with knives in their boots and a sword up top. A couple held bow and arrow sets - they held back. She'd have to watch for them; but the center swordsmen would attempt to defeat her first while the flanks would encircle her.

"Speed up, you snails!" Shimmer yelled at them. Why were they giving her so much time to think?

She took a metal spear in each hand - couldn't have the silly swordsmen snapping wooden ones, could she - and stood defiantly in the open.

The came upon her. She twirled and danced: stab left, step right, punch, and swing!

After a while they were just a pile of groaning grown men and women, and her coach came over.

"Stunning work, Shimmer! We know you'll _Shimmer_ when you're in the Games!"  
>She sighed. None of the trainers were really trying. She didn't even have a scratch, and she'd just sparred with eight adults. They didn't want to hurt her, even a little bit, before the Games. Boost her confidence, blah blah blah. She couldn't even have a good fight and Coach's forced, crappy puns really weren't helping. Ugh. They were just all so stupid.<p>

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><p><em>One week prior to the Games - Residential Street Five, the Capitol<em>

Evangeline couldn't decide. Green halter dress? Or turquoise strapless? She needed something to wear to the first edited screening of the Reapings today, and totally couldn't decide. She knew, because her husband Jairus was a Gamemaker, that the arena was going to have a bit of a theme this year, something green. (She didn't really know. She could care less; she was really only going because Jairus, her husband, was a Gamemaker. He came to all of her functions, and so she attended all of his). But blue was so flattering on her, and green was going out of style. Harrumph.

Guys like her husband never had this problem; all they had to do was pick a business suit off the shelf, that was exactly the same as all the other ones. Then they could just waltz out of the house. Harrumph.

In the end, Evangeline phoned up a friend of hers and asked: "Dress one or two?"

She was told number two, but of course, green was going out of style. Evangeline just had to choose the blue one. "Thanks, Cissy!"

Makeup went on in a rush, but after double checking her mascara (couldn't have that askew again!) Evangeline was out of the house, on time.

"Welcome to the Games!" The video announced. The Capitol crowd in the square cheered. This was widely considered the premier of the Reapings, even though they always played live before this. In the square, with a massive crowd, commentary, music, the Reapings minus their boring chunks were much more lively. Who cared if they weren't live?

Although Evangeline didn't particularly care anyways. She sat with the other family and friends of the Gamemakers: parents, siblings, in laws and spouses fill the seats surrounding her, most with rapt expressions. There'r a couple others here by obligation, rather than interest, but she has been sandwiched between Jairus's parents, and doesn't get the chance to talk with them.

Evangeline tried to make herself pay attention. The careers all volunteered. Three's boy had a limp. Whining screaming and yelling parents and siblings for children for a while, interrupted by the odd lonely kid who didn't have anybody screaming for him, didn't show any emotion. Scrawny kids from eleven and twelve. Yawn. She was glad that was over. Now she could go meet Jairus, and they could go home, relax, and be together, for once. This time of year was so busy for him, but he always got the rest of the day off after public appearances. Once the Games started though, he probably wouldn't even make it home most nights.

Evangeline had to look forward to a couple weeks from now, when the whole tiring shebang would be over.

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><p><strong>So thank you so much for reading! I'll try to update often and not be your stereotypical bad author. Review!<strong>

**~Gemma**


	3. To the Capitol

**And two weeks later, she posts chapter three . sorry!**

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><p><em>Helvetica Rose Reece, Escort for Madilynne's district<em>

"Are we going to be leaving anytime soon?"

The engineer looks like he's frightened of me. Good. "N-no, ma'am..."

I deal him a glare. "Why not?"

"We-we're having engine troubles, ma'am..."

"And you aren't out there fixing them because?"

I can hear the silent because I'm talking to you, lady and I know he's thinking it but too intimidated to speak it aloud.

"Go on. Shoo." The district man runs off, scared.

_Keep the train on time_, check. More like keep the train less late, but that was okay too, I told myself. A few hours wasn't a big deal. Not a big deal. Keep calm. The recaps probably hadn't even started, which meant the Reapings weren't even finished in all the districts. A few hours behind wasn't late.

I scurry down the hall of the train in my heels, accustomed to the gentle rocking of the train. The door to the dining car, where everyone is gathered, is ajar, and I sneak in behind them all. Only the mentor, a man so old I couldn't imagine him speaking, let alone helping the tributes, notices me. Reaping recaps play on the television, and while the girl tribute is fixed on the images, the boy stares at the wall. He'll be a bloodbath tribute for sure, and although I'll have to pretend like I like him until the Games start, he'll be a fun death to watch. He'll die early on and be forgotten about. Not that he really deserves to be remembered - he'll just have been some annoying district kid.

I clear my throat. The girl, who's name I've forgotten already, starts. "I think we'll have an early dinner," I state. "Turn that screen off, and we'll get a few appetizers in here."

Madilynne - that was her name! - gapes at me. "But... I need to know who my competitors are!"

I tsk at her. "You'll have time tonight and for the next week to meet them. You won't get to know them through a screen, you know. Now turn it off. We're not watching anything while we eat. You're going to tell me about yourselves and what your strategies are. Chop chop!"

Madilynne moved in slow motion towards the television, obviously trying to stall long enough to get a glimpse of the next districts tributes.

Tsk. "Now!" I bark. She startles at my harshness but keeps waiting. I'm about to go over there myself when the boy silently gets up and turns it off on his way to the table. He takes a seat quietly.

Smiling despite myself, I ask him his name. I may have pulled both their names from the reaping balls, but that doesn't mean I try to remember them.

"Brian, ma'am," he says, pronouncing his name like 'brain.' The districts all have this strange, dull accent. It's difficult to stand - made even the cheeriest thing sound depressing. "I got a puppy!" could be announcing your father's funeral's date. Not that I care about my father, but I heard rumors that people out in the districts often did care about their parents. A lot of things were strange like that in the districts.

"Lovely, dear," I tell him, shooting a glare at Madilynne, who's finally It's clear she doesn't like me. I get the feeling she doesn't like most people. "Now, children. Take a seat, Madilynne. It has come to my attention that since you mentor is so old and useless, you won't be having much of a guide for how to do well in the Games. I've decided you two are worth it, and so, lucky for you! I'll be taking you under my wing. You, Madilynne, will run into the Cornucopia straight away. Grab weapons, try for a mace. I've heard there are a few Gamemakers this year who favor those - I agree with them, they're wonderfully bloody." I pause for a moment. Where was I? Oh yes. "Brian, you just wait on your platform. Madilynne will come for you."

Madilynne looks offended, but she must be somewhat pleased I think she can survive a bloodbath.  
>"If you two stick with me like glue, you'll have advantages over every other tribute, and no matter what happens to you, I swear it - one of you will win."<p>

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><p><em>Evvana Zevvin, apprentice Gamemaker. aka Evvie, coffee girl.<em>

I know the whole "apprentice = coffee girl" thing is a tradition as old as time, but I've been here for like, three weeks now. I mean, seriously. There a couple people in here who aren't good for much except serving coffee - but here I am, with the answers to all their problems, asking them would they like some cream with that?

One of the dimwits is set up to become head Gamemaker whenever Sinclair retires. Or quits or dies or gets fired. You get the picture. Adolf Hamilton, his name is. Biggest dolt of the bunch.

The only good thing about serving the refreshments is you get to see what everyone is up to. Hamilton's just surfing around, looking at the humidity stats. What a surprise - because he hasn't been doing that for the past three days.

He _could_ just glance up at the live feeds for just a second, but he's too stupid, and won't look away from the numbers. It'd take a computer a week to do the calculations, and he doesn't even know what he's looking for. The stupid lake is boiling. It's been set to boil. Why can't he see that?

"Coffee!" Someone's calling me. Sounds like Sinclair, but I can't see who it is yet. I hope it's not him - he's one of the two people who can fire me. Him and the President. Not that he has a reason to. It's just the fact that he can that makes me nervous.

And it is him. He turns his chair back around and away from me, once he sees me coming.  
>"Would you like any milk or sugar, Sir?" I'm already there and pouring in the spoonful of sugar he likes - asking only in order to be polite - and setting the mug on his desk. It sits there, steaming, but Sinclair doesn't touch it. Doesn't do anything. "Sir? Are you-" I spin his chair around and see the problem.<br>Sinclair isn't being lazy, or even just taking a nap. There's a dart perfectly centered in his chest. When I pull it out, I'm kind of confused - just a dart couldn't kill a man - but then a dot of green poinsonous substance drips off of it. Ha, it was a poinson I recognized, one Sinclair had invented himself. Usually we called it plum sauce, because it often got put in plums or fruit in the arena. It killed so quickly the victim often didn't even know they we're dying until the moment after they did. They'd drop dead in the middle of a scentence, or in this case, in the middle of being served coffee.

I grab the mic off Sinclair's - now Adolf Hamilton's - desk. A couple Gamemakers nearby looks surprised to see me, of all people, holding it. "Sinclair's dead," I announce to the room. "Everybody move up one, you can all get yourself a new coffee girl."

In the spiral formation of desks and computers below, everybody collects their stuff and moves a desk over. Hamilton, who's at the top end, will move up to the head Gamemaker's desk. I'll get the vacated desk right in the middle, at the beginning of the spiral. There's a lot of spilled coffee and it's really just wasting a lot of time, but finally every one settles into their new desks happily - after all, every single one of them has just been promoted.

I skip down from the raised platform holding the head Gamemaker's desk - newly appointed head Gamemaker Hamilton will try and make me deal with Sinclair in his chair, but I won't. I'm not their slave-slash-coffee-girl anymore: there's one desk at the center of the spiral that's just been vacated. It might be the cheap desk, the one for which they won't replace the cracked computer screen. But it's not for a coffee girl, it's one step up on the way to head Gamemaker. And now it's mine.


	4. Everywhere, The Red Sticky

**I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Again. This story seems to just be like that. I did, however, write three _long _chapters for a new fic in two days. So I'm only being lazy about my obligations. Every things else I'm getting done at light speed.**

**Just a note that Skye Lazar (a tribute) is a little different than first submitted but she's definitely still Skye. You'll see what I mean. (Yes, she came with the extra personality, I just changed the way they interact.)**

**So I'm pretty sure I had more to say but I just got a choir email which I should probably read instead of writing you this letter so I'll shut up and you can have a pretty go at the chapter now, k bai:)**

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><p><em>Run, run, run, run, run. Grab, stab, dodge, die, run, run, run.<em>

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><p><em>Madilynne Jackson, tribute<em>

Help. Help me.

Help me, oh God, help me! Please please please please please...

But there's no one to help me and nothing I can do as the glass tube comes down down down and my platform goes up up up...

But then it hits me. The smell, it's like chocolate chip cookies. And it makes me feel calm, like it's all a dream, it _is_ all a dream...

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><p><em>Helvetica Rose Reese, escort<em>

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

I can hear the clicks, out on the street, each signifyingone second. Tick, tock, tick.

Thirty, thirty one, thirty two... Why can't this cab go any faster? I'm supposed to be in the betting room, not the street!

Tick, tock, tick, tock, BAANG!

The bloodbath is starting. It's starting and I'm missing it!

I bang on the door. "Hurry up, you stupid lump of metal!"

Of course there ins't anything I can do, since none of the taxis are actually driven by human beings anymore. They're all automated and obey the street laws to perfection. Can't even bribe them to get you anywhere in a hurry. I want a person to drive me. Why on Earth would I bother giving my money to a robot? It's all going to the Center Capitol bank and Snow himself. Snow deservs it, of course, but a robot? Uh, no.

I can't even roll down the windows,. When I try, I get the whole, "No, please don't stick your anatomy out the window. Thank you."

I try to get a view out through the tint to see if anyone's playing the Games in a shop display or something. The robotic taxi driver takes us by the tech shop, downtown, but there's only cellphones and smaller devices in the display today. They're probably playing the Games, too, but nothing has a big enough screen for me to see. Stupid shop. They normally have massive televisions out for show, but no, not on the best day of the year for a display like that. Ugh.

The taxi stops. "Fare, please," it goes. The robots sound like district kids, with their accents. Last year for the end of the Games, they even made a few fancy special edition taxis for celebration. I got to ride in one the day they were released - everything they says sounds like the victor from that year, Samantha something. I hear they're planning to release a few like that annually, with that year's victor's voice. I hope to that it's Brian's or Madi's voice this year. No, I don't hope, I know. One of them will win.

I'm distracting myself, because right now, my tributes are in the Games and I'm missing it! I pay the taxi, fumbling the massive special edition coins - I swear, everything is special edition. I fumble not just with the coins, but the door handle, my luggage, and even my balance too, wretched shoes. I totter into the betting center laden with gifts and large sums of cash to bribe whoever I might possibly need to save my tributes. I just hope those two tributes of mine listened to my instruction on the train, or they're a lost cause.

I dump the stuff in the corner and find a couch, just as quickly found by Lana, a maid. My maid.

"Miss! Miss Helvetica! You're back, oh I was so worried you'd not be coming back!"

I blink. Lana can be ridiculous. "Don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't want to end up back in the districts, girl. I couldn't have that happening to you."

She gulps, because obviously she's afraid of that, but she knows I won't be the one sending her. I'm too friendly with her to send her off. But if she's that shrill, certainly someone will order her to be fired.

"Since you asked me to tell you if anything happened to your two tributes, Miss Helvetica, I should tell you that we believe the boy Brian has nearly perished and the girl Madi has been gassed. She is unconscious on her platform." She looks at me uncertainly.

What? Out of the game already? No! They can'y be. Well, Brian I can believe, but Madi? No!

"Screen, I need a screen!" One is turned on right in front of me. Oh dear, she's right, Madi's just lying there. But there's that other girl, right nearby. Skye, her name is. "Lana, find the lowest Gamemaker. I think the newest is Evvana or something. Tell her I need the Madi saved, at all costs. Forget Brian. Tell her to use Skye - make them allies. Control her, whatever. Just save Madi. There's a diamond necklace or something else and free snacks in it for her. If she says no, say you'll be her maid for a day or two. Get!"

I see on the screen a career coming at Madi. The only one that's recovered from... whatever's knocked out Madi. These tributes are acting weird.

"Get! Now" I yell at Lana, not being harsh on purpose. I've got to save Madi, now.

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><p><em>Adolf Hamilton, Gamemaker<em>

I walk around, checking every one's screens. The flood is ready, as is the earthquake, for just in case. Amelia's shape shifting hig-speed chase mutts are holed away in specific olaces of the arena. Simon's got his joystick out, ready to move supplies and weapons towards or away from certain tributes. Solomon's got- "playing solotaire, are we?"

Solomon jumps, suprised to see me. "N-no, Adolf..."

I shake my head. "Don't be stupid."

He closes his program right away. I don't feel the need to check on every one else; Solomon's the only one who usually gets distraccted.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen...

Already? I huff and puff up the steps to the raised platform of my desk. Just in time...

Three, two, one... I slug the gong tirgger - a head sized target painted button in the wall - with as much force as I can give it. The reverberating sound nearly knocks us from our senses but most of us still manage to yell, "_MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR!" _Because it's not weird, it's tradition.

There's laghing, cheering and a euphoric atmosphere until every one settles down.

Now, this is when we let in the train of people willing to bribe us to save their favorites. I hope I get another diamond necklace this year; I need something for mother's day.

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><p><em>Skye Lazar, tribute<em>

TEN, says the screen mounted on the cornucopia. We're surprisingly not freaking out considering we only just managed to make ourself pry our eyes open.

NINE, it says. Cars rush around the traffic circle in front of us. There's trucks and scooters and busses and even one shaped like a hotdog that just confuses us. They're all shiny and pretty and it's more like the Capitol than real life; We're in some sort of city.

EIGHT, it says. Buildings, massive, like you'd only find in the Capitol, rear up all around us. Glass or mirrors, mostly. They look too stable to ever fall.

SEVEN, it says. The cornucopia itself shines like some sort of massive beacon as the gathering place for the tributes. It's a huge contrast to the grey and beige of the city. It isn't like the city is dirty, just that the cornucopia is so bright and golden that everything around it pales in comparison.

SIX, it says. We're rocked into focus as an explosion rocks the area. There's another explosion immediately after, but it's father away. We teeter back and forth, feeling thankful for our good balance and sorry for whoever dropped their token and whoever got pushed to their doom by the shockwave.

FIVE, it says. Someone brave - suicidal, we mean - yells, "screw the Capitol!" There's another explosion, and that one knocks two others off. Five before the gong has got to be a new record; some years that's all the bloodbath manages to claim.

FOUR, it says. The remains of the five have finally landed, no longer blown into the sky. A red, sticky bit lands on the shoulder girl next to us, and she screams, bursting into tears. She won't even touch it to get it off, just sobs and stares it down, like that'll do anything.

THREE, it says. There's shop after shop after shop surrounding us and the traffic circle. They sell things only the Capitol can afford, but a few of the small spaces are a little bit run down so it can't possibly be. The Capitol is this glorious, shining city and this... isn't.

TWO, it says. What are we supposed to do? Do we run? Grab supplies? Panic sets in - you'd think it would have come already. Our way is blocked, by cars and-

ONE, it says. Our way is blocked by people.

And then the gong goes off, and chaos erupts.

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><p><em>Child 176 2416, "Millie," District Five's tribute.<em>

The crowds of civilians hoarding themselves on the sidewalk ignore us tributes. I'm tentative at first, but when I realize they're just three dimensional projections, I plow right through them. They don't actually exist; only look like they're there and don't notice me; after all, I'm not part of the code that controls them.

The road diverts on either side of me; I don't have to dodge many cars. I have the feeling the Gamemakers wouldn't pass up watching us tributes become roadkill by making those holograohs, too.

The other tributes seem to come to their own conclusions - ghosts, illusions, "I've gone insane!" I know there's only one other kid here who will actually understand how this element of the arena works, because he's my male counterpart from the technology district. In the case that he does get it right away and plunges through the crowd like me, I have six years in age and size over him and there is no way he'll win the fight.

I'm right. I'm the first, on this side, anyways. The mouth of the cornucopia is piled high with nothing strewn around. I grab an already semi-filled pack and and add what I think I'll need and everything I can see: food, water, foil blanket, knives, sheath of arrows. No bow, but an elastic coil of synthetic rope. It looks like raw woven fiber, but I can tell it's just roughed up plastic.

I zip the bag and start watching as other tributes burst forth from the holographic crowd. None of them are armed yet, and I don't spot the careers. I've got time to grab one more thing- c'mon, Millie, don't dawdle - a sword. Broadsword. I can't really use it but with my big size I'll bet I look like I can.

I take a swipe at one boy on my way out but he dodges, the terror in his face more noticeable than his nose. My balance and speed are interrupted but I keep going, praying no one sees me, that no one takes a swipe at my neck.

The crowd is good camouflage. I'm tempted to stay, but it's just like standing in a thick fog. I might be hidden, but everyone else is going to be barreling through here and I'll likely be found.

The shops bordering this street will be searched by the careers later. But cities are huge; maybe I can escape into one of the high rises.

I stop bolting around, instead going slow, quiet. I don't want anyone to where I'm going.

I emerge from the crowd. A few holographic stragglers - not tributes - block spots of my vision, but the sidewalk where we all started is empty of tributes. Live tributes, anyways. The bits of the blown up five still scatter the concrete and asphalt.

Walking through a group of three my age - "Did you see her shoes? - yeah - disgusting, right? - yeah - does she even wash her hair? - yeah, she totally ruined the party - and the dress - oh, I don't even want to think about that..." They babble on. But what surprises me is I get stuck. Not on them, but on part of the bag one of the holds. They drag it and thus me towards themselves, open it - "stupid heavy thing" - and pull out a flower. Which I am stuck behind as they throw it away because apparently it isn't a part of them that I can walk through, like their clothes.

I'm free in a moment - I only have to backpedal and go around; it's only a flower. But I realize that two people carrying solid items like that, crossing paths with me in the middle, well, that could well kill me.

* * *

><p><em>Skye Lazar, tribute<em>

We're running, but we don't know why we're running. We never told our legs to go this way!

Oh dear, we're dashing through the fast roaring traffic now. Stop, Skye, stop! What on Earth are you doing?

Get a grip, Skye. It's just the Gamemakers, right? It's gotta be just the Gamemakers... Running us right to our death. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear oh dear oh dear.

We're through the traffic now. People, piles of them, ignoring me. My limbs fly right through them. Ghosts?

Nobody is -no tributes are, anyway- aiming anything at me. There are a few dead looking tributes around and a whole lotta dazed looking ones, but no biggie, I'm not dead and I'm not going to be one like them.

We seem to be running in a zig zag now. Since when did the Gamemakers get to control us like this?  
>"We aren't some kind of video game, you know!" We try and shout. But we can't, we're not in control of us. We almost trip and we'd be shooting off obcenities from two minds out of one mouth and doubling your vocabulary if we could. But it's okay, nothing gives us a vicious lethal stab in the back while we're down and we're okay.<p>

We're heading towards one of those floppy tributes who're all unconscious and ruining the landscape. M-something, her name is. Marlene? Molly? Madi. That's it.

Suddnely we think we're gonna crash but whoever is steering us must know us better than us, cause we certainly aren't the ones who could tell you we could do acrobatics like that.

It's a flip we're doing, and we're snatching up the girl and sprinting away - no! the Cornucopia! All the supplies the careers are going to get and we're not... Dammit.

We must run for hours with this dead girl in my arms (at least she doesn't smell) before we get control back.

"What the hell was that for!" we scream! One of us drops the girl in the process and I make sure we pick her up gently. "Sorry," I make us whisper to her. The other part of Skye doesn't seem to care about this girl, but she doesn't stoo me from speaking.

The crash on the girl's head's woken her up and she seems to be in a lot of pain. Which isn't exactly surprising considering we just kind of threw her on the ground...

"Shit, we are sorry," We say. I truly am, the other half of Skye...

Clearly, my other half isn't sorry because she's trying to stretch our arm, armed with a knife, out towards the girl.

But as soon as I realize and I think it, our body freezes up again. What the hell, Skye, I tell my other half. What did she ever do to you?

We get our control back from the Gamemakers quickly this time. It's more like a warning to leave the girl alone.

Must be a Gamemaker getting bribed, somewhere.

In the Capitol, dimwit.

She's waking up, pay attention!  
>Why do you care so much after you were going to kill her?<p>

Just because we can't hurt her doesn't mean it's the same for her. She might be some bloodthirsty, insane kid the Gamemakers wanted to use-

You watched her reaping on the recaps. She's just like everybody else. More normal than us.  
>Well, whatever. Allies we'll be, I guess. If she's being protected, we might as well stick around.<p>

Should we tell her?

What, that there's two of us in one? No.

The girl rolls over away from us and groans, "you said we... Who else is there?  
>"Uh, we didn't say anythig," we tell her dishonestly.<p>

Great.

This sucks.


End file.
